


Positively Harmless

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Forest Sprite, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Pre-Slash, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, geralt attempts the lute, i guess, it's kinda just plot, now I wanna write a fic about Jaskier teaching Geralt to play the lute, the second chapter is a fic about Jaskier teaching Geralt to play the lute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Geralt knows Jaskier isn’t human, even if he’s just met him today, but Forest Sprites are harmless.  It’s not as if they’re easily offended, possessive or feral. What could possibly go wrong if he lets one follow him around?OrA different take on Geralt and Jaskier's first meeting in Posada and the encounter with the Elves.Pre-slashChapter 2 is a fluffy follow-up drabble.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 647





	1. Chapter 1

It doesn’t take long for Geralt to realize that Jaskier isn’t human. 

Sure, when the bard first approaches him in that tavern in Posada, making an offhand comment about bread in his pants, it’s easy for the Witcher to pass him off as another human stumbling their way through the first few decades of their life but he’s quickly proven wrong. The young bard is stubborn to follow him, and everything seems normal as they’re walking through the crowded streets of the town, heading to find the Devil in the mountain that the townspeople are complaining about. It’s not until they reach the more heavily wooded area that he notices the differences. 

The extra sheen to the bard’s chestnut hair that makes him appear haloed. 

The sharpness of his teeth, the glow of his cornflower eyes.

The way his voice lightens, melodic like the tinkling of bells, carried by the wind to dance around their heads, linger in his mind.

The way that flowers grow when he walks, leaving a trail of buttercups, bluebells, and dandelions in his wake. 

“You’re not exactly subtle.” Geralt finally says, pausing the bard’s mindless chatter for a second. 

“And what do you mean by that?” Jaskier asks, not attempting to play dumb, just fishing for words to fall out of the Witcher’s mouth. 

Geralt huffs, “You’re not human.” 

Jaskier nods. “And what are you going to do about it?” He holds his arms out dramatically, leaving his chest and stomach open. “Slay me where I stand?” The remark is almost sarcastic, and there’s definitely no fear in his tone like he doesn’t believe the Witcher would. 

Geralt hums in assent, “you seem harmless.” The Witcher shrugs and turns back to the path they are walking, scanning the horizon for any sign of this so-called Devil. 

“Harmless,” Jaskier huffs, but doesn’t make any further comment and instead returns to idly plucking his lute. 

It’s not until they get captured by the Elves, tied back to back, that Geralt realizes this might be more a problem than he thought. 

Jaskier had been knocked unconscious, drug to their prison, and wakes up to find himself restrained, surrounded by cold and unforgiving rock. The bard shifts uncomfortably. When he makes a whining comment about how Geralt should do his “witchering”, he realizes that Jaskier is feigning human. He expects that the glamour is back full force, and perhaps that’s the reason he’s not currently sitting on a bed of flowers. He briefly wonders if Jaskier’s abilities are weakened because he doesn’t have direct contact with the soft soil of nature, but his mind is quickly is drawn to other things as he’s struck across the face. 

The whole situation goes to shit rather quickly once pointed statements are made about humans - directed Jaskier’s way - and, of course, once the lute is broken. Geralt can practically feel the atmosphere shift once the sickening snap of the lute’s neck rings out into the open air. 

“You’re going to regret that,” Geralt says, more as a tired warning than a threat. The Elves give him a look until their attention is drawn to Jaskier, who has freed himself from his bond and has risen to his feet. 

“This is a rather unfortunate turn of events, isn’t it?” Jaskier says with false saccharine lining his voice. Geralt can hear the difference, practically feel the icy cold dripping from every word. 

All the Elves around them pause what they’re doing, eyes drawn to the bard’s feet, where flowers burst their way thrown gray stone, splashes of yellow snaking their way across the floor in a paint splatter like pattern, originating for where Jaskier stands. 

“Not only,” Jaskier continues, and while Geralt can’t see him, he images that the facade of human is gone, all the way down to glowing eyes, pointed ears, and sharp teeth. “Did you disrespect me,” Geralt cringes internally at those words. Seeing as Sprites are closely related to Fae, and therefore share a lot of similar traits, respect is a big deal. And disrespect is an even bigger one. Based on the looks on the Elves' faces, they know this too. “Break my lute, and interrupt my journey, you threatened this Witcher.” 

Of all the things the Sprite could’ve listed, Geralt is most surprised by the mention of him. 

Jaskier inspects his nails idly as he continues to speak, but the flowers around him display his mood for him, growing farther still, reaching with thorny tendrils to lap at the Elves feet. Geralt takes notice, however, of the flowers that circle around him, luscious and soft, promising safety and peace, begging him to stay quiet, reassuring him not worry. 

“You see,” Jaskier explains, looking up to level with Filavandrel. “I haven’t spent much time with him, but I was really looking forward to all the adventures we might have, if he’d let me tag along, of course,” Sprites are nothing but polite, even in situations like this. A creature like him can never afford to assume. “and - well - it’d just be very unfortunate if that got cut short, don’t you think?” Jaskier is a performer, Geralt thinks, watching as the bard runs through a display of many different emotions throughout the one sentence. 

Filavandrel nods in agreement, and it must’ve been the cue Jaskier was waiting for because only then does he continue. “So, here’s my proposal. I take that wonderful looking lute in replacement for the one you broke, and I’ll write an absolutely stunning song about how this wolf of a Witcher killed all the Elves on the mountain. I get a fantastic song, the Witcher gets a reputation boost, and you get left alone. Deal?” 

Jaskier waits expectantly but gets handed the lute in lieu of a verbal response. The flowers around Geralt shift suddenly, snapping his bonds within the blink of an eye, and gentle helping him to his feet. His weapons and gear are handed to him by cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums, and only when they are ready to leave do all the plants retreat, leaving the stone floor bare again. Jaskier leads the way out of the cave, leaving forget-me-nots in his wake. 

When they can barely see the cave anymore, certainly out of sight and range to be heard, Jaskier stops. Geralt looks at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Here,” Jaskier practically thrusts the lute into the Witcher’s grasp. “Hold this.” Geralt takes the lute out of pure confusion more than actual compliance, and Jaskier promptly collapses, his fall cushioned by daisies that spring up under the ground. 

———  
Geralt has enough sense to take them somewhere deep in the forest, far away from any prying eyes, and lay Jaskier in the dirt. 

Flowers spring up around him, seemingly attracted simply by his presence, and Geralt sits nearby, careful not to crush any of them. He sits, and he waits. He studies Jaskier now that he has no glamour, takes in his sun-kissed skin, thinks about his stubborn personality, and takes a moment to realize how smart Jaskier’s solution to their problem was. His gaze flickers over to a small stream that runs nearby and excuses himself to get a drink of water, making sure to collect some for the bard to drink later when he awakes. He then finds himself drawn to the lute Jaskier had entrusted to him, smiling at the irony of dandelions etched into the wood. 

Filled with curiosity, and perhaps with the urge to fill the time with something other than the tense feeling of hoping the Sprite wakes up, he gently runs his fingers over the strings, keeping his touch light in attempts to not break anything. It’s laying on the ground next to him, and Geralt leans over it like a child, plucking at the strings with clumsy fingers. He plucks each string individually and then attempts to play a simple tune he remembers hearing as a kid. The notes ring out into the open air, but sound off and leave a sour taste in his mouth. Well, he never did claim to be a musician. 

“Needs to be tuned.” Jaskier’s casual remark has Geralt reeling back, golden eyes staring at where the bard now sits leaning on his hands, feeling slightly like a kid who has been caught doing something wrong. 

“You’re awake,” Geralt needlessly points out, feeling caught off guard. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier snorts, “Like I’ve been trampled by a horse. Remind me to never use that kind of magic again so far away from forest soil.”

“Noted. And... thanks.” Geralt manages. 

Jaskier stares at him, obviously surprised. “I’m sorry, I think I might still be a little light-headed from draining my magic, but did you just apologize? _You,_ a Witcher? Scandalous.” He croons. 

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

A grin lights up Jaskier’s face regardless, “Does this mean I can travel with you, dear Witcher? Have I proved my _harmlessness_?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That means yes.”

“That means _maybe_.”

Jaskier levels him with a look, “that means yes.” Geralt shrugs and refuses to comment further. “Now,” Jaskier continues, content enough to talk for the both of them, 

“I have a song to write.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier teaches Geralt to play the lute. 
> 
> Little drabble following up the main story. Self-indulgent fluff

‘Toss a Coin’ becomes Jaskier’s first hit song. 

It brings them more coin in one sitting than Geralt has ever seen someone get in for a single song in his entire life, boosts his reputation - as promised - and, well, he reluctantly admits that it’s catchy. 

Geralt was there as Jaskier composed it, not to mention that the bard uses every town to flaunt his newest composition, if the people there haven’t heard it already, and are begging for him to play, so it’s fair to say that it’s quite constantly stuck in his head. It’s not his fault that it’s the first tune that comes to his mind, and he occasionally hums it absentmindedly. The first time Jaskier hears the Witcher hum the first bars of his song, he crows in victory. 

“Ha!” Jaskier exclaims, jerking Geralt out of his absentminded trance and drawing his golden gaze over to where Jaskier stands, triumphant. “You _do_ like my song.” Flowers bloom under his feet victoriously, growing tall enough to reach his calves. Geralt stares at him for a second, before he realizes what he was doing, and quickly makes an aborted huff, turning away from where the bard celebrates and coaxes Roach to move just a bit faster. 

“I’m not letting you live this down!” Jaskier calls, walking a few paces behind him and strumming his lute once more. Each step leaves a clump of daffodils in his wake. Geralt ignores this but doesn’t say anything, allowing the bard to revel in his victory. 

It’s not until they make camp that night that Jaskier brings it up again. 

It’s dark, their only light coming from the flickering fire in front of them, and what little light trickles through the trees from the moon. Jaskier is comfortable as ever in the forest, settled on a soft bed of cushy moss, leaning contentedly against a nearby tree, eyes falling shut. He plucks at his lute some more - he only really puts it down to eat, Geralt thinks - and a soft melody fills the air.

“Already composing something new?” Geralt asks, but it comes out with more curiosity than he intends, instead of the teasing remark he had in mind. 

Jaskier opens one of his eyes, peering across the fire at the Witcher, something akin to amusement dancing in the cornflower blue. “Why, you interested?” Jaskier questions, leaning forward and looking at Geralt with both of his eyes open now, curiosity fully peaked. 

Geralt shrugs and drops his gaze to the fire, staring at it long enough to make his eyes burn, remaining quiet. His attention is only drawn away from it as Jaskier pushes himself to his feet, chrysanthemums helping him rise from the forest floor and growing around them as the Sprite settles himself next to Geralt. Geralt sends him a questioning stare, lifting an eyebrow to wordlessly convey his confusion, and he gets a just as wordless response, Jaskier plopping the lute in his lap. 

Geralt tense immediately, frozen in place, as if any wrong move will break the delicate instrument into pieces. 

Jaskier seems to be impatient with the lack a proper response, and cannot keep quiet any longer. “You seemed interested in it earlier.” He says as if that explains everything. 

“What do you mean?” Geralt demands, though his words are gentle and full of confusion more than anything else. 

Jaskier huffs, rolling his eyes. “After our encounter with the elves,” He says as if that wasn’t months ago. “I woke up and you were fiddling with it.”

Geralt thinks back and does remember doing so, leaning over the wooden instrument like a clumsy child, plucking at the strings carefully, in fear that he’d break it. He’d stopped when Jaskier had woken up, and the lute had almost immediately been returned to the Sprite for him to compose his latest song. It’s a small detail to remember about that day, Geralt thinks, and it was one he had certainly forgotten, given all the other events that had occurred. It’s curious that was one of the things the Sprite had remembered, though Geralt supposes that perhaps his memory just isn’t as good as the bards. He is only a Witcher after all, and he many other more important things to keep in his head. There’s no room for trivial details like that. 

Though, now that the memory has resurfaced, he stares down at the lute with newly rediscovered interest. Sure, what Geralt does is impressive, he brute forces his way through life, killing monsters with his sword in exchange for coin, but even that is accomplished with the help of potions. Learning an instrument takes time, talent, and dedication. Not only that, but Jaskier also writes and composes his own songs. He’s smart, witty, always has snappy comebacks that sting. Certainly, that’s more impressive than anything a Witcher could do. He nudges the lute back over to Jaskier with something like defeat. Better leave music to someone well suited for it. 

Jaskier looks down to where the lute sits on the ground, moss springing up around it to make sure it remains unscratched, before looking up at Geralt. “I’ll teach you.” He offers, but Geralt just huffs bitterly.

“I don’t want to break it.” He says, instead of what he’s really thinking. “You need it to play your songs and make coin.” 

Jaskier is surprisingly resigned with Geralt’s refusal, and takes the lute back, dropping the subject. He leans against Geralt tentatively, and plays once more, singing softly. 

——  
Its another couple of weeks before the subject is brought up again. They’re staying in town this time, Geralt resting at Jaskier’s insistence, as he had come back from a monster hunt in the early hours of the morning. It was well-deserved rest, or so he’s told. In the meantime, Jaskier makes himself useful by going out into the town, buying things before they head out this afternoon, back on the road. When he comes back, however, he’s holding an extra object that Gerald didn’t ask for, and honestly, wasn’t expecting. 

“You bought a lute?” He asks, disbelief coloring his voice. “Is Filavandrel’s not good enough for you anymore?” 

Jaskier rolls his eyes, like its Gerald who is being ridiculous. “It’s for you.”

Geralt’s eyebrows jump into his hairline. “For me?” 

Jaskier nods, settling himself on the bed next to Geralt and placing the lute in his lap. “You obviously have an interest in it, but were too worried about breaking mine - which, honestly, is a fair point - so I got you this cheap beginner’s one so that’s not a problem anymore.” 

Geralt is honestly floored. He stares at the instrument in his lap, but picks at it delicately, plucking one of the strings. It plays a sour note, just like the last time he attempted to play, and he quickly straightens, moving his hands away. “This is a bad idea.” He says, turning to look at Jaskier. “I’m not meant for such things as this.”

Jaskier huffs. “It just needs to be tuned. It sounds like that because it’s new, not because you’re inherently bad at it.” There’s a pause, and the Sprite decides to press his luck. If Geralt really doesn’t want to learn, he can always sell it back. “You tune it like this.” He instructs, reacting over and twisting one of the pegs extending from the head. When he plucks the string after this, Geralt notices the sound is different. “See? You try.”

Tentatively and as gently as he can, he twists the peg below it and plucks at a string. This too sounds better, and hums with the air, instead of clashing against it. A smile works it’s way onto Geralt’s face before he can stop it, and his attention is quickly drawn away from the instrument as he reaches to twist another peg. His golden eyes widen as they are suddenly surrounded by a small field of bluebells, his gaze flickering up to where Jaskier sits next to him beaming proudly. 

“So, are you willing to let me teach you?” Jaskier asks, trying to keep the excitement from bubbling into his voice. 

Geralt shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. “Sure,” Next thing he knows, he has a lap full of bard, though the Sprite is careful to miss the instrument, and arms wrapped around him and Jaskier hugs him. The bluebells shoot up another foot and are joined by buttercups, Jaskier’s excitement fully permeating the room. 

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier says, more to himself than anything else as he pulls away, gathering himself and taking a deep breath. He focuses his attention back on Geralt and helps him tune the rest of the strings. “Alright,” Jaskier instructs, unable to keep the grin off his face, “Here’s your first basic chord.” He lifts his own lute into his arms and places his fingers correctly, waiting for Gerald to follow.

So, in that tiny little room in the inn, surrounded by bluebells and buttercups, Geralt begins to play.


End file.
